


the sophistry of pipe dreams

by crocustongues



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Manga Spoilers, i have the power of friendship on my side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 23:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocustongues/pseuds/crocustongues
Summary: The days start to blur into one another, filled with volleyball and practice drills and working hard. It’s the sort of stuff Wakatsureallyenjoys, the soreness in his arms from spiking tosses and the burn in his thighs from running endless laps. Even the small-talk with people he kind-of knows. Acquaintances evolved from years of seeing them around at different tournaments and other sports meetups, like that annoying loudmouth setter from Inarizaki and Sakusa from Itachiyama.And, of course, Ushijima Wakatoshi.





	the sophistry of pipe dreams

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday kiryuu!! ;-;

The first thing Wakatsu notices about his roommate is that his side of the room is immaculate, clothes tucked away into the assigned drawers, no doubt folded neatly, like the uniform laid out at the foot of the bed.

It gives Wakatsu an inkling about who his new roommate is, but he knows there’s no point in dwelling over it. They share this space out of sheer necessity, an extension of their passion for volleyball and their dedication to the sport, for coming all the way here.

He drops his bag at the foot of the bed and wonders what it’ll be like to share a room with Ushijima Wakatoshi.

He lays down on the bed, steeped in deep thought, and is fast asleep when Ushijima comes in, carrying a tiny succulent to adorn the windowsill between their beds.

⊱ ────── 🌱 ───── ⊰

The days start to blur into one another, filled with volleyball and practice drills and working hard. It’s the sort of stuff Wakatsu _really_ enjoys, the soreness in his arms from spiking tosses and the burn in his thighs from running endless laps. Even the small-talk with people he kind-of knows. Acquaintances evolved from years of seeing them around at different tournaments and other sports meetups, like that annoying loudmouth setter from Inarizaki and Sakusa from Itachiyama.

And, of course, Ushijima Wakatoshi.

True to form, they barely acknowledge each other, the sharing a room is a prerequisite to volleyball, as they find themselves to be far too tired after a full day of practice to stay up and talk. Wakatsu’s not one for small-talk, and it appears Ushijima is even less so; however he does note, subconsciously, that Ushijima religiously takes pictures of the succulent at their windowsill on his phone.

⊱ ────── 🌱 ───── ⊰

Midway through camp, the coaches change teams, and by luck or misfortune, he faces Ushijima through a netted fate. He keeps his cool, with no outward indication of being intimidated or challenged, but by God, is he _ever_. It’s a repeated experience, this showdown, and they both know how the melody goes.

Rather profound, Wakatsu thinks—watching Ushijima’s serve aimed right at him—how expected and predictable they were, how years and years of comparison have rubbed them the wrong way, grated raw and left with only the burning promise to do better. And Wakatsu doesn’t hold it against him, not really.

The match ends expectedly—absolutely nothing about Ushijima Wakatoshi is unforeseen; a man of meticulous consequence is he who waters his singular succulent twice a day—25-22, the whistle blows, and they wrap up for the day. Wakatsu’s setter—the boy with bleached hair and a smug attitude from Inarizaki—has convinced them all to cool down together. In the middle of stretching, singing hamstrings and all, and idly listening to Miya Atsumu brag about his setter dump—a truly spectacular feat, no doubt—Wakatsu realises, all at once, that Miya and Usuri would either be the best of friends or there’d be a homicide in the papers that Wakatsu would wake up to the next morning.

He misses his team, suddenly, and he hopes that they’re practicing hard. That Mami and Unnan aren’t at each other’s throats too much. That Bishin has stopped complaining about English homework. That Hondo has gotten his shoulder looked at and is feeling much better now.

He sits down on his bed in the empty room, fresh out of the shower, and types his first email home, agonizing over asking about various little details in lieu of a reply.

He’s so engrossed in typing and re-typing, he doesn’t even hear the click of the door when Ushijima enters. It’s a short email, but Wakatsu hopes it sounds friendly yet responsible enough for a future captain. It’s a lost cause to ponder, really, but Wakatsu has long since abandoned rational thinking in situations like these. His eyes follow Ushijima idly, as he waters his little succulent, taking a picture with a glaring flash.

And then—

“Kiryuu.”

And mentally, Wakatsu does what Usuri would call a double-take. He looks over to Ushijima, curiously and a little wary, since their conversations usually revolve around warm-up exercises and the weather back home.

“Your lower body strength is admirable. The composition of your spikes today was impressively consistent.”

And with that, he lies down, with no expectation of a reply.

That night, long after the lights are out and all the good volleyball children are asleep, Wakatsu finds himself wide-awake, with an unnameable feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tosses and turns and blinks hard at the succulent, awash in the midsummer moonlight. He hopes for some respite to half-formed questions pressing into the back of his mind, all stemming from Ushijima’s adventitious praise.

Maybe Ushijima Wakatoshi _isn’t_ so predictable after all.

⊱ ────── 🌱 ───── ⊰

The next morning, he finds a new unopened email, sitting in his inbox like a golden egg, from a user named _sailormichirusuri_ which entails, in full detail, the goings and comings of the members of Mujinazaka High School Boys’ Volleyball Club. Wakatsu smiles to himself in the middle of his breakfast at the twelve-hundred-something exclamation marks.

That night, one of the last couple of dying saffron sunsets before camp comes to an end, they all sit around—bonding, Miya calls it—listening to anecdotes from various volleyball meets. Wakatsu himself doesn’t have many, he finds it hard to approach others and make light conversation, but he hears of one, about Usuri, from a certain Hoshiumi Kourai. Figures a wing-spiker like him would hear of _Usuri_ , of all people. 

Surprisingly enough, Ushijima shares: an account of an Oikawa Tooru, a setter of impeccable calibre, from back home in Miyagi (although the reason why he and Ushijima aren’t on the same team never clarified itself to Wakatsu). Setters really are a type, it seems, in the volleyball circle. 

Miya talks about his own team, back in Osaka, and talks about his brother to no end. Descriptors like _dumbass_ and _idiot_ are sprinkled liberally in his speech, but Wakatsu can tell Miya respects his brother’s prowess. This launches the rest into yarns about their own teams, and they talk, perhaps for the first time, well past dinner and into moonrise, stringing together little volleyball cabochons of new friendships forged in a shared moment.

Wakatsu wants to ask Ushijima about his own team as they walk past the hallways to their own room, and he wants to ask about his punk-looking setter, about the long, gangly-looking middle-blocker— _Guess Monster_ , they called him, and Wakatsu doesn’t like him very much, he will admit. He wants to ask about the green-fingered freshmen, young first-years. Are they a handful like Usuri and Bishin? Or are they pliable, hearts set on becoming the protagonists of their own sports mangas?

An axiomatic truth stands thus: Wakatsu never asks _outright_. He thinks it over, in at least twenty-six different permutations, and he never _says_ it. He thinks about asking after Ushijima right up until they reach their door, and then it derails into thinking about elevated heartbeats and the statistics thereof, and suddenly it’s half an hour later and he’s in bed, thinking, still, because what else is left?

⊱ ────── 🌱 ───── ⊰

The morning before they go home, it’s a free-for-all volleyball buffet—everyone practicing with whoever they liked. On some level, subconsciously, Wakatsu keeps an eye out for Ushijima, while wrapped up in a conversation entirely about _not_ volleyball. Hoshiumi and Miya are exceptional chatterboxes, and terribly animated to boot. Their conversation had started with tips on improving stamina and lower body strength, and Wakatsu had caught sight of Ushijima’s broad shoulders, nodding along to something Sakusa was explaining. Of course, Hoshiumi’d spotted that, asking if the three of them were friends. The question had caught Wakatsu off-guard.

 _Friends_ is not the word he would use to talk about Ushijima and Sakusa. So he’d asked, instead, if Hoshiumi and Miya knew who they were. Miya shrugs like he couldn’t care less if either of them were the Prime Minister, but Hoshiumi looks him straight in the eye and tells him he’s going to best them all. It sends chills up and down the length of Wakatsu’s spine and he’s so taken aback, he stands frozen for a moment. That is, until Miya Atsumu laughs his head off, bringing them to their current state—Hoshiumi and Miya arguing heatedly about _stature_ and _attitude_ while Wakatsu looks on, lost.

Their interactions hadn’t been a complete waste of time, though. That evening, just before they head off to the showers, Hoshiumi materialises in front of Wakatsu and thanks him with sincere eyes for his generous advice and calls him _senpai_ , and vanishes with the sticky summer breeze, leaving Wakatsu to wonder over the potential this kid really has.

Later, sometime between after breakfast and before his mother drops by to pick him up, Wakatsu screws up the courage to ask Ushijima. Ask what, exactly, was still quite the mystery, but he was determined to _ask_.

It’s funny how he’s always one step ahead of Wakatsu, when he finds himself face to face with Ushijima Wakatoshi, who’s offering his phone number on a little piece of paper. Wakatsu, with all his sixteen years of life experience, cannot fathom a suitable response. He bows deeply to Ushijima’s _I would like to continue exchanging suggestions and recommendations on warm-up exercises_ , to the point where it turns into white noise. He replies with a nod and accepts the paper and he holds it close until his mother turns up in her blue Subaru to whisk him home.

⊱ ────── 🌱 ───── ⊰

Wakatsu wakes up at five minutes past five on his first day back home. He sneaks out quietly, treading carefully over that one squeaky stair right next to his sister's bedroom.

He pulls on his sneakers, double knots them, and leaves, with Nya-san watching from the gate at the bottom of the garden. He breaks into a run almost immediately, along the well-worn path down by the fields. Running is cathartic, and it helps clear his head, and he thinks over the last few days in all their glory. He runs through them, his mind playing a highlight reel, coming to a jarring stop at last night.

He doubles back once he reaches the shrine at the foot of the hill, stretching and yawning up at the saffron sunrise. The gates whine open, and Nya-san is by the doll his sister’s left outside by grandfather’s precious tomato patch. His mother’s awake when he walks back indoors, and she pats his arm comfortingly and tells him she’s going to make some tea, and would he like some? 

In the bright morning sunshine, with dew clinging to his calves, Wakatsu looks at the last picture he’d received on his phone over the rim of his teacup.

He‘s no expert at photography and even less of an amateur at making friends, but he thinks that this slightly blurry picture of Ushijima and his cactus is the most beautiful beginning he’s ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> i know you've read this a billion ties already beewa chan but here u go finally!!! massive thank you to bread who agreed to beta this i assure you it was a mess before she got to it
> 
> you may find me on twitter @floralsonnets that's about it thank you for reading! ✨🌺✨


End file.
